The Birds, The Bees, and The Saiyans
by Gemma.Maze
Summary: Pan wins an opportunity to tour with one of the biggest rock stars the world has ever seen. The only problem is, he has something of a playboy reputation and Pan fears that her own lack of experience will stand in the way of snagging the man of her dreams. Desperate, she turns to her best friend, Trunks, to teach her anything and everything she needs to know. Rated MA for lemon.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER**—I don't own Dragonball/Z/GT or any of its characters

**WARNING**—This fic is rated MA for sexual themes and content and for language.

**GENERAL FIC INFO**—This Fic takes place some years after GT. Trunks has moved to New York City to run a new branch of Capsule Corporation. Pan is also in NYC attending an exclusive art school. I'm not sure what the age difference between them is in the show, but for the purpose of this fic, they're 11 years apart.

**THE BIRDS, THE BEES, AND THE SAIYANS**

_So much left unspoken between the two of us_

_It's so much more exciting to look when you can touch_

_You could say I am different and maybe I'm afraid_

_But I know how to twist ya to bring you to your knees_

_I get off on you getting off on me_

_I give you what you want but nothing is for free_

_It's a give and take kinda life we make_

_When your line is crossed I get off, I get off_

_-I GET OFF by HALESTORM_

CHAPTER ONE

Eleven fifty-eight. Pan sat in the living room of her one bedroom apartment, her eyes glued to the clock, her ears trained on every word that spilled from the DJ's mouth.

"Here's the latest single from Leon Starr! Be sure to stay tuned in. When we come back we'll be announcing the winner of our _Party Like a Rock Star_ drawing. One lucky rocker will get to spend the entire summer touring with Leon Starr, staying at the finest hotels, hanging out backstage and gaining exclusive access to all the after parties as a personal guest of Leon's."

"Okay, okay," Pan chanted to herself, sucking deep breaths between her teeth. "Please, please, please. God, please. I've never won anything before. I think I deserve a little R and R for that whole _saving the universe_ ordeal. Please!"

Her pleas were met with the angelic voice of Leon Starr singing about how he would treat her if she were his lady. As much as she loved his music, the song seemed to go on forever. Twice during the four minute single she got up and paced from one end of her apartment to the other; from the kitchen, through the living room and straight into her bedroom. Then she'd turn around and plop back down on the sofa.

When the final bars of the song were played, her heart did a funny little flip in her chest and sped up, then immediately dropped when her anxiety was greeted by a series of ads and commercials.

"Just say the name already!" she shouted and threw her pillow across the living room. It hit the wall with a thump and she cringed at the noise. Mrs. Shelton—her nosy next door neighbor—was sure to come knocking after that. The woman could hear a pin drop and be utterly convinced that someone in the building had just dropped dead. Pan supposed that's what happened to people who lived alone and did nothing but watch CSI all day.

"And now for the moment you've all been waiting for!" The DJ chirped. "As a special surprise, Leon Starr is here in the studio and will personally draw the name. Remember, once the name is called, that person has ten minutes to call into the studio and claim the prize. If that person doesn't call, we'll draw another name and reset the clock. If THAT person doesn't call, we do it again, and again, and again until we get our winner. Drumroll please!" A sound bite of drums played in the background.

Pan sat on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped around her cell phone, the studios number was already input. All she had to do was click the green button and she'd be talking to Leon. He could literally be one button away.

The sound of paper shuffling emitted through her speakers, then stopped. "Okay," Leon said. She could hear him unfolding the paper. Her breathing stopped, her chest ached. "And the winner is… Pan Son."

"AAAHHHHHHH!" She jumped up and flew around the apartment—literally—whooping and clapping and laughing. "I won!" she screamed. "Oh-my-gosh-I-won!"

"The clock starts now," the DJ said, pulling Pan out of her victory dance.

"The clock!" she shrieked. In all of her excitement she dropped her phone. She zeroed in on it, just under the coffee table and then dove over the couch to retrieve it, sending throw pillows flying and knocking over the arm chair in one fell swoop.

"This is the Rock, you're on the air…"

"I won! I mean, I'm Pan!"

"You're Pan? I don't know. You sound kind of young. You know you have to be eighteen to be eligible, don't you?"

"Pan?!" Mrs. Shelton banged on her door. "Are you alright in there? I heard all kinds of commotion."

"I'm fine Mrs. Shelton! Yes. I'm eighteen."

"Mrs. Shelton?" the DJ and Leon Starr repeated.

Pan felt her cheeks turning bright red and she silently thanked God that they couldn't see her right then, standing in the center of a wrecked apartment, panting hard and looking disheveled from flying and tossing furniture around. "Er.. yeah.. she's my neighbor. The woman is like ninety-three years old. I don't know how she hears everything."

"Pan! Are you all right? Open this door! I'll get the landlord!"

"Fucking Christ, really?" she growled and tried to tidy up her apartment as best she could with one hand. "I said I'm fine! I'm on the phone!"

Mrs. Shelton, however, was not convinced. "Is there someone in there with you?"

"Oh for the love of… no! Go away, please!"

"Aw, don't be like that," Leon's silky voice purred in her ear, sending slivers of warmth down her spine. "Why don't you open the door and see what she wants?"

"Because she's insane," Pan grumbled, but opened the door anyway.

There stood Mrs. Shelton. Her hair was in its usual disarray and her beady little eyes bore holes into Pan, raking over her from head to toe, searching for the slightest hint that she'd been wronged somehow. Her floral pattered dress hung off of her tiny frame like moth eaten drapes and her feet were bare. She'd undoubtedly tried to scurry out into the hall faster than her body would allow. "What has been going on in here?" she demanded. "I thought you were being held hostage or something from the way you were screaming and carrying on."

"No. I just got really excited. I won a contest to hang out with Leon Starr," she explained in a dry tone, convinced that Mrs. Shelton would have no idea who Leon Starr was or what she was talking about.

Pan, however, was wrong.

"Leon Starr?" Mrs. Shelton repeated and narrowed her eyes at the phone still pressed to Pan's ear. "You should turn it down, young lady. I've heard all about that hooligan and how he's only after one thing. A pretty girl like you should avoid that kind of trouble. He'll be trying to get into your pants before you can shake his hand."

Pan made a choking noise and slapped her hand over the receiver, but the DJ and Leon—and the rest of New York for that matter—had already heard her and were cracking up in her ear.

"You better watch out, Pan. She may be right. I am newly single after all."

"Right," Pan said, letting a false laugh bubble up her throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

There was another great round of chuckles from the DJ and Leon, then they rattled off a bunch of instructions that Pan had to do, like go the radio station and provide a picture ID and get her plane ticket. Then she'd meet up with Leon in three months to begin touring, which left her plenty of time to get any work or school arrangements handled.

Relief should have washed through her by the time she got off the phone—she'd won, she had her instructions, Leon Starr had spoken to her and Mrs. Shelton had finally disappeared back into the depths of her own apartment. But instead of relief, a new kind of anxiety flooded her.

_What if she's right?_ She thought, letting her mind flip back through their conversation. _What if that crazy old woman has a point and Leon Starr tries to sleep with me? What am I going to do? I don't know how to… _

She drifted through her apartment, picking up things here and there that had been knocked over during her celebration lap, all the while thinking of ways to explain to Leon Starr of all people that she'd probably suck in bed.

_How embarrassing! Maybe I should just listen to Mrs. Shelton and let someone else go. I mean, it's only the man of my dreams. He's only one of the most celebrated rock stars of my time. I could meet him again one day. Later in life when this wouldn't be a problem… _

"Ugth! What a stupid idea," she groaned and picked up a couple of pictures off the ground. The first one was of her, her parents, and her Grandma Chichi. It had been taken right before she left for New York to accept her offer to attend The Art Institute of America. The second photo was of her and her best friend, Trunks. He was the only reason her parents allowed her to attend school out of the country. With Trunks around, they knew there'd be someone trustworthy to keep an eye on her—not to mention someone would be around who was actually stronger than her if she got out of control. She remembered how he had met her at the airport when she arrived and showed her the city that night. She'd spent weeks in his spare bedroom until he hunted down an apartment that he deemed to be good enough for her.

She smiled at the memory. They must have looked at every complex in the city before they found this one. For a minute there she worried that he'd make her stay with him until she graduated. It wasn't that she didn't like hanging out with him—in fact she loved his company-, but she wanted the opportunity to live on her own and to have her own space.

Besides that, the last time they'd spent any length of time living together she was still a little girl. Things were different now. She had big girl parts and it always felt a little weird if she had to dash back to her room in nothing but a towel if she'd forgot something for the shower. Neither of them said anything about it, but the silence that would hang between them was nearly tangible, and it would hover for hours.

Then there was the time she walked in on him and his latest conquest. Women were always throwing themselves at him, though she didn't see what all the commotion was about. Sure he had inhuman muscles and nice blue eyes, but other than that he was just… Trunks. But she supposed she didn't see the appeal because every man she knew was built just like him. Muscles, martial arts and confidence were an inescapable part of life in Pan's inner circle.

If more women saw Trunks the way she saw him, they'd back off right away. In her eyes he was nothing more than a big, lovable brainiac. Seriously, if he hadn't taken control of the New York branch of Capsule Corp, he probably would have been a teacher like her dad. The man could teach anyone anything…

The picture slipped from her hands and landed with a smack back onto the carpet. "Oh God."

An idea was forming in the back of her mind. An insane, ridiculous, terribly bad idea.

##

"Good Evening, Ms. Pan," Charles, the doorman of Trunks' apartment smiled when she came in.

"Hey Charles," Pan said, her voice two octaves too high. "Is Trunks in?" She hadn't called before she left in the hopes that he'd be out and this whole ludicrous idea of hers could be forgotten. But if he knew she wanted to stop by, he'd wait for her.

"Yes ma'am. He worked late and just got in no more than ten minutes ago. Shall I buzz him and let him know you're on your way up?"

_Dammit!_ She'd forced herself to sit in her apartment for hours while she turned this idea over in her head again and again. The purpose of breaking it down so much was to try to talk herself out of it, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. If she would have come over when she first thought about it, he wouldn't have been home and she wouldn't be in this situation right now! "Uh, no. I'll just go up. It's… I'm going to surprise him." _There's an understatement if I've ever heard one._

Charles nodded and offered her a smile that one might give to their granddaughter.

She shuddered and ran up the stairs. She didn't want Charles looking at her like that. Not right now when she felt so bad and wrong and… dirty.

_I can't believe I'm doing this_! She yelled to herself. _God, how am I even going to say this? What should I do? I'll have to ask him to sit down first. Maybe if I'm lucky he's drinking a beer or something. That should take the edge off. Yeah. He likes beer. There's a good chance that alcohol has already happened. Ew. God, now I'm starting to sound like a skeezy old man who tries to pick up drunk women. If he's been drinking, then this is a no-go. _

Trunks lived in the penthouse of the apartment building. It was on the highest floor so that he and he alone would have access to the roof. Pan wasn't sure why that mattered so much to him. It wasn't like they could get away with flying in New York. Still, it usually took her a long time to reach his floor, but this time it seemed to be mere seconds.

She laced her fingers together and thought about how she was going to do this. _Hi Trunks, would you mind taking away my virginity? … Trunks, you know you're one of the only men I trust, right? I was thinking you might want to sleep with me. … Wouldn't it be cool if we hooked up?_

When she reached his door, she stood and stared at the patterns swirled into the wood for a solid five minutes. Then she squared her shoulders and gave herself a good mental shake. She'd made the trip, on foot, trying to talk herself out of coming the whole time. Now that she was there, she refused to back down.

TAP TAP TAP, she knocked weakly on the door.

Trunks answered a few seconds later. He was still wearing the dress shirt and slacks he wore to the office; his sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows and his tie was undone and hanging limply around his neck. "Oh hey, Pan. Come on in."

She stood rooted to the spot, her back rigid with nerves, her fingers wringing themselves into knots. Then, to her horror, she blurted out, "Ineedyoutosleepwithme."

He came up short and stared at her, dumbstruck, then… he shut the door in her face.

She exhaled, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and had just thought about leaving when the door opened again.

"Sorry," Trunks said. "I think I just had some sort of crazy hallucination from working too much. I opened the door and could have sworn you said…"

"You didn't hallucinate, Trunks. I… I need you to teach me how to…" she trailed off. Her cheeks felt like infernos and she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye, too afraid of the rejection she knew she'd see there.

When his hands lashed out and grabbed her shoulders, her heart gave a funny sort of leap. For a moment she actually thought he was going to do it, but those hopes were dashed when he pulled her inside and began running his fingers over her scalp. "Did you bump your head?"

"Stop it!" she hissed and slapped his hands away. "I'm serious!"

"You've gone mad!" he said, appalled at the very idea of what she was asking. "Why would you ever think of even… did I give you some sort of mixed signal? If I did…"

"No, you didn't. But that's why it has to be you. Because you're my best friend and I trust you and I know you won't think of it as more than what it really is."

His expression spoke volumes. It was like someone told him that Disney World was shutting down forever. His eyes moved over her face, searching desperately for any clue that she'd shout "April's Fools!" and they'd both get to laugh about it.

But that search came up empty, and he was left staring into the all-too-familiar determined face of Pan. "Okay—I mean, no, _NOT_ okay but—I mean, let's go sit down and you can explain to me where this insanity came from."

She followed him into the living room and sank into the depths of his plush sofa. It didn't escape her notice when he crossed over to the other couch and sat down as far away from her as he could manage without seeming rude.

"It's like this…" she began and launched into the story about how she'd entered this contest a couple of months ago and that they announced today that she was the winner. Then she explained about Mrs. Shelton and how the old lady—crazy as she may be—could have a point. And if Leon Starr _did_ end up trying to sleep with her, that she would have no idea as to what she was supposed to be doing.

"Well if you think he's going to try to sleep with you then I agree with Mrs. Shelton. You don't need to be going."

"But I _want_ to go," Pan protested. Then in smaller voice added, "and I want him to want to sleep with me. "

"This is crazy."

"No it's not! And you're not allowed to think I'm crazy. In case you've forgotten, you're my best friend!"

"And in case _you've_ forgotten, I have witnessed your dad lay down some truly spectacular ass-kickings in my day. I'm not trying to be next."

Pan jumped to her feet. "That's why you won't teach me? You're afraid of my dad?! It's not like I'm going to run off and tell him about it!"

"No," Trunks said, getting to his feet as well and glaring down at the girl he'd known since she wore diapers. "I won't teach you because it's immoral and wrong! Do you even understand what you're asking me to do? I mean, I'm ten years older than you for God's sake!"

"Eleven."

"Sorry?"

"You're eleven years older than me."

He blinked at her, slack jawed, then threw his hands up in the air. "Well that makes it worse!"

"But Trunks," she said and took a step towards him.

But Trunks backed away, "No. That's my final answer. Now we're going to forget this conversation ever happened. … I think you should leave now."

Rejection hit her like a cold slap to the face, making her eyes water and her heart sink. She wasn't stupid. The bigger, more sensible part of her knew all along what his answer would be, but hearing him say it hurt a lot more than she thought it would have. But she'd be damned before she let him see her cry over it.

She turned her head to the side as she passed him and crossed the open floor plan to the foyer. There, she stopped but didn't face him when she said, "I'll find someone who'll do it. I just wanted to ask you first because you're the only guy here I can trust. But this is New York. If you won't do it, there are plenty of other men out there who will."

Then she left, slamming the door so hard behind her that the frame cracked and buckled into a heap of wood in the hallway.

##

**Author's Note**—Hello All. This is a gift fic for a very good friend of mine. She's a huge Trunks/Pan person so I told her I'd scribble something down for her. Just so you all know, I am working on a different fic as well—A B/V fic called Beauty and the Beast—so my time will be split between these two. Also, I have no beta, so if you spot a typo please let me know. I tend to miss them in my own writing. Please read and review. I love hearing what everyone thinks!


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Dammit, Pan,_ Trunks thought and rolled onto his side. He punched his pillow into a ball, then flipped onto his stomach. The words she'd spoken as she stormed out of his apartment burrowed into his mind like millions leeches. No matter how hard he fought to block them out—no matter how many walls he put up, those words would break through. And each time they did, they seemed ten times louder than before.

The idea—the mere thought—of Pan putting herself out there for some scum to invade…

"Ugth!" he punched his pillow again and sat up, burying his face in his hands.

_She wouldn't, _he thought. _She would never disrespect herself like that. Not Pan. I mean, she's such a sweet, nice girl. I mean… in order for her to actually go through with something like that she'd have to be stupid and bullheaded and a hell of a determined over-achiever who felt like she had something to prove._

"Ah hell," he groaned and tossed his covers aside. "This is exactly the kind of thing Pan would do."

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and got out of bed. For a while he stood in front of the refrigerator waiting for something tempting to pop out at him, but the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn't hungry. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed a bottle of chocolate milk and left the kitchen, crossed through the dining room and went into his office.

There, he booted up his computer, pulled up a blank word document and started typing:

_SCHOOL RULES_

##

All of her friends were waiting for her in front of the school the next morning, all wearing Leon Starr t-shirts and bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet.

"Pan!" they screeched. "We heard! We heard you get to tour with Leon Starr! … I'm so jealous… are you excited?... how long is the tour?... Do you get to bring a friend?"

She beamed at the cluster of ecstatic girls and held up her hands so they'd calm down. "Hang on, guys, one at a time! "

"How are you so lucky?" her friend, Mya, asked. "First Trunks Brief and now Leon Starr. It's so unfair."

She cringed at the mention of Trunks. What in the world could have possessed her to think that asking Trunks to sleep with her could ever be a good idea? How mortifying! She should have made herself wait at least a day before taking the plunge and asking him. She could have thought it out from every angle and possibly saved herself from this awful, guilty, rejected feeling. And what Trunks must think of her now! She wouldn't be surprised if she would never be able to look him in the eye again.

"Pan!"

The small herd of girls stopped and turned.

"You're kidding," Mya sighed. "Now Chase Wyatt wants you too."

Chase was easily the best looking guy in her school and he was coming towards her, waving like a mad man for her to wait up.

"He doesn't want me," Pan said, rolling her eyes. "I lent him my notes the other day. He's probably just bringing them back."

She was right. She could already see him fumbling with the zipper of his bag and pulling out a blue folder. Still, he was very attractive and pretty nice as far as she could tell. More importantly—he was a young, single guy. She bit her bottom lip as he approached and considered the likelihood that perhaps Chase would be more supportive of her plan than Trunks was. She had no doubt that he was experienced. Probably not as experienced as Trunks, but still…

"I wanted to get these back to you before class," he explained and handed over a pack of papers with her own neat scrawl across them.

On her left, she heard Mya gasp and her friends break out into a fit of giggles. She tried not to roll her eyes at their immaturity and wondered silently how it was that she ever came to befriend such giggly, preppy girls in the first place.

"So, I was wondering…" Chase began, swiping his chestnut colored hair out of his face.

Pan's heart skipped a beat. He was leaning in closer to her, shuffling his feet. Then he reached out and absently ran his fingers up her forearm.

"Pan," Mya hissed, tugging at her sleeve.

"Not now, Mya," she said, slapping her hand away.

"But, Pan…"

Chase smiled, obviously encouraged by the way Pan's attention was completely focused on him. "I was wondering if you had any plans tonight. Because, you know, if you weren't doing anything, we could, maybe, go grab a bite to eat or something."

"She's busy," a familiar, male voice said from right behind her.

Pan spun on her heel and found herself staring straight into the muscular chest of Trunks, who had been standing so close to her that it really bothered her that she hadn't sensed him there.

He stood glaring at her, arms folded over his chest, in a three piece suit. Her friends had huddled around him and were doing embarrassing things like smelling him and stroking his arms, but he seemed not to notice. In fact, he seemed to be blinded by anger and Pan had a nasty feeling that she was the root of that anger.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She noted the light purple rings under his eyes and wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all last night. If there was one thing she learned from living with Trunks in the middle of space all those years ago, it was that a tired Trunks was a cranky Trunks. And a cranky Trunks was a dangerous Trunks. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Oh, I should be. But I had this nagging feeling that I needed to come check on you." His voice was low, a couple octaves below a whisper. Speaking in such a dangerous tone was enough to send even her ditzy, carefree friends stumbling back a few steps. He cut his eyes to Chase and asked, "Is he a friend of yours?" in that same tone.

"Uh, no… yes… sort of," she stumbled over her words then glared at Mya. "Why didn't you tell me Trunks was here?" she asked, exasperated.

"I tried to tell you! You weren't listening!"

"Pan?" Chase asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything okay?" He gave Trunks a menacing look and Pan found herself counting her lucky stars that Trunks, of all the Saiyans, was the most cool-headed. If Chase shot that look in the direction of, oh say, Vegeta, he would probably be kissing the pavement by now.

Trunks glared at his hand, then yanked Pan out of his hold. "We've got to talk," he said and marched her into the ceramics building, leaving Chase, Mya and the rest of her friends to stare after her.

He didn't say a word as he trudged down the corridor, clutching onto Pan's upper arm and dragging her along. Every time he came to a door he would pause and peek in the window, checking to see if the room was empty, then he'd shake his head, mutter something about being overheard and keep moving.

"Trunks! Stop it!" She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but it was a fruitless attempt. Trunks was an ascended Super Saiyan, after all, and she knew the only way to get the best of him would be to catch him off guard. As he was now—focused, determined, and a little angry—she knew that any physical attempts of getting away from him would be a waste of energy. "What's the matter with you? … Hello?... Stop ignoring me!" He stopped at another door, peered in. "Ugth! What are you looking for?!... You know what? I don't think you're allowed to be here. This is a closed campus, students and staff only!"

"Pft! Do you know how much money I shovel into this school every year? I practically own this place. Don't be surprised if they change the name to Briefs Art Institute." He turned right, down an abandoned hallway and smirked. The whole place was roped off by bright yellow caution tape and pieces of the ceiling and floor were missing. On either side, the walls were a dark charred color and in some places looked frail enough to crumble under the softest touch. These things were the result of kiln fire that had broken out last semester. The school was due to start repairs sometime next week. "This way," he said, ducking under the tape, floating over the missing floor boards and turning into an empty room in the middle of the hall. He released his hold on her only after he had shoved her inside and shut the door behind them.

"What the hell, Trunks!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a shrill bell sounding in the distance.

"Oh great," Pan said. "Now I'm late. Thanks a lot! And what's with the Vegeta act? Coming in here and bossing me around like that? You may as well wear Saiyan armor all the time and gel your hair up."

"We've got some matters to discuss," he said, ignoring her.

"Oh," her heart sank and she could feel that familiar heat pooling into her cheeks. "This is about last night, isn't it? Listen, I'm sorry if I…"

"I'll do it."

"Say again?"

"I'll do it. But I've got a few conditions," he said, pulling out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. "If you can't agree to all of these rules, then the deal is off."

She knew her mouth was hanging open. She could feel the hinges of her jaw ache and her tongue and throat grow dry. She gave herself a mental shake and snapped her mouth shut. He was agreeing? He would do it? He would… but what about everything he'd said last night! What about all that talk about how it would be wrong and immoral and how he was so much older than her?

She opened her mouth, intending to ask exactly that very question, but her mind was way ahead of her voice and quickly decided that it would be best not to remind him about all of his concerns. So instead she asked, "What are the rules?"

He handed her the envelope.

She took a minute to scrutinize his face, trying to detect if this was all some elaborate joke he was playing on her, but he looked dead serious. So she shrugged and timidly tore open the envelope. Two papers were folded inside. The first one was titled: School Rules.

_SCHOOL RULES_

_NO ONE (Family, Friends, Family, Colleagues, FAMILY) can know about this arrangement. In the event that anyone should suspect either party of being engaged into this arrangement, the tutelage shall stop at once._

_Both parties shall submit to a full medical evaluation before the start of these courses as a safety precaution. In addition, the female party shall agree to take a contraceptive as medically prescribed by a doctor._

_These courses are strictly educational. Dating, hand holding, cuddling and kissing on the mouth can lead to undesirable feelings for one or both parties and is strictly prohibited. _

_In the event that these course carry on through the early hours of the morning, both parties agree that sleeping in the same bed could send a false message and both shall strive to avoid that situation. In addition, neither party shall be offended or have hurt feelings when the other party leaves. _

_In the event that one or both parties reach a point of discomfort, they must let the other know immediately and that segment of the course or the entire arrangement will come to a close. _

_During the entire duration of this tutelage period, neither party shall engage in any kind of sexual activity with any other partners. If the event that this rule is breached, the courses will immediately stop. _

_The above conditions are listed for the physical, mental and emotional wellbeing of both parties. All of these conditions must be adhered to or the agreement is null and void. _

Pan read over the rules, then read over them a second time before asking, "So, this isn't like a one-time thing then? I mean, not that I'm complaining, but I didn't think that losing my virginity would be so…" she studied the rules again, "official."

"Yeah well," he shrugged. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. Can you agree to those conditions?"

Her eyes lingered on the second rule. "Yeah, I can, but I guess I'll have to make a doctor's appointment."

"It's already done," he said and handed her an appointment card from out of his wallet.

She read over it and saw that he'd made the appointment already for four o'clock that afternoon. She'd have to go right after school. "Okay, so… what now?"

He leaned on one of the desks and said, "You've got three months until the tour begins. We'll be using all three months. Sex is a very complicated thing, Pan. It can happen in many different shapes and forms. I don't want you getting any nasty surprises." He took in her expression and explained, "You may not understand this now, but sex isn't two dimensional. People who lack experience tend to think of it as this amazing, romantic encounter when in reality it's not always like that. It can be, but it can also be messy and exhausting and sometimes you're just not into it. It can be soft and sweet or it can be hard and rough. It just depends on what that person likes. That's what we need to do for you. We need to nail down what your preferences are."

Her throat had suddenly gone very dry. This was really happening. Here she was, standing with Trunks, discussing how she's going to like it in bed?!

"So," he continued, "I've drafted up a general course syllabus," he said, nodding to the other paper in her hand. "It's just an outline of course. We'll add and take away from it based on what you like and what you don't like."

She unfolded the second paper through the numbness that had gathered in her fingers and read:

_COURSE SYLLABUS_

_Week One—Safety and Maintenance Briefing_

_Week Two—The Maiden Voyage_

_Week Three—Foreplay and Why it's Essential_

_Week Four—Oral Fixations_

_Week Five—The Position Inquisition_

_Week Six—Soft, Hard, Rough? Finding Your Style_

_Week Seven—Location, Location, Location_

_Week Eight—The T&A Obsession_

_Week Nine—The Fine Art of Dirty Talk_

_Week Ten—Minute Men, How to Recognize When Evasive Actions are Necessary_

_Week Eleven—Taboo_

_Week Twelve—Final Exam_

"So?" he asked, "How does that sound."

"G-good," she stuttered, staring at the strange titles and wondering what over half of them meant.

"Fine," he said. "We'll start tomorrow night. Eight o'clock, my place."

"Oh, okay…" her heart felt like a jackhammer against her ribcage. She knew that this was her idea, but she never thought—not in a million years—that Trunks would actually agree to it. But staring down at the syllabus she couldn't help but think that this went beyond agreeing. This was on a whole new level of agreeing. "Can I ask what changed your mind?"

A Vegeta-esque scowl etched itself into his features. "I knew you would do it. All the stuff you said yesterday about finding someone else to sleep with you. I stayed up all night worrying that you were already out there, letting some stranger drool all over your body."

"Some stranger?" she scoffed. "You know I wouldn't do that! I would have found someone I trusted."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But all I could see last night was that little girl that snuck onto the spaceship and stole her Uncle Goten's spot while we risked our necks to hunt down black star dragon balls. And all because she felt like everyone underestimated her. You've always been like that, head-strong, determined." He sighed, letting the images of their adventures run through his mind, then he added, "You don't make idol threats, Pan. I know that and so do you. And I was worried sick of what you might do."

She nodded. This wasn't the first time she'd felt guilty about stowing away on that ship. For weeks after they returned to earth and defeated Baby, her parents walked on eggshells around her. They gave into her every whim, which she supposed could sound like a childhood dream, but in reality all it did was make her feel wretched. They were so scared that she'd run away or do something rash that they catered to her every want. And now Trunks was doing the same thing.

He glanced at his watch and cringed. "I've already missed one meeting this morning. How about a hug before I go? A real hug? A hug for your best friend?"

He opened his arms wide and she immediately flew into them. She always loved Trunks' hugs. He was warm and strong and smelled like ivory soap and Trunks' musk. Any time she was worried or scared or sad, he would hug her and she would feel a million times better.

But when he pressed his lips into her hair and muttered, "Promise this won't change us. Promise me that I won't regret this decision." She felt her heart sink. It sank because she could already feel that they were changing and that it was too late to take any of it back.

"I promise."

##

**Author's Note**—Hello again. Here's Chapter Two. I hope you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I am. It's turning out to be very fun to write! Please read and review to let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and faved this fic… it's a real confidence booster!


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

The doctor's appointment had her worried. Up until now, Bulma had always taken on the role of the good doctor for the Saiyans. As such, she knew to expect the subtle differences in their blood, knew that the reflex test would run a little differently for them, and understood that their general body temperature was slightly higher than what was normal for a human.

Pan's father had told her horror stories about having to spend days and weeks at a time in the hospital when he was a kid, all because the doctors didn't understand that his body was different from a normal human's. And all the while, Gohan had been perfectly fine. It was just that he was, well… part alien.

Luckily, Trunks (and probably a good chunk of the Brief's fortune) already had a solution for any prying doctors in New york.

"Mr. Brief tells me you're a Saiyan as well," Dr. Aurora said as he shut the door behind him. His eyes were glued to his clipboard, hungrily taking in all of her stats. Pan imagined that seeing such abnormal stats was something of great interest to him.

"Um, yes," she said, taken off guard by the fact that this old man was privy to the one sliver of information her family constantly fought to keep guarded from the outside world. Just knowing that a complete stranger knew such a vital and intimate fact about her made her skin crawl. On some level, she almost felt violated. Her mind began to race. What would happen now? What was he planning to do with this information? Should she let her family know?

But then logic kicked in. This man was Trunks' private doctor in the states. He had no doubt been either threatened or well-paid into silence, perhaps even some combination of the two.

"All right," he said. He put her chart on the counter, washed his hands and slipped on a pair of green disposable gloves. From there he dove right in, beginning with simple things like taking her vitals ("You run a little warm too," he said merrily. "Mind you Mr. Briefs averages a solid five degrees higher than you, but he's told me you're only a fourth Saiyan. Is that correct?"), to checking her flexibility, ("Wonderful! It's simply amazes me how much more precise your anatomy is compared to ours! Why, that move there would snap a man's back in half!") and then launching straight into blood work and the dreaded PAP smear (for which the doctor had enough sense to keep his comments to himself).

She'd heard that normal doctors had a bad habit of making people wait for their results. Her friends had told her tales of having to wait weeks just to hear that they were healthy. Doctor Aurora, however, collected all of her samples and led the way to the adjacent room where he sat at a long counter topped with devices of all shapes and sizes. Most of them looked innocent enough, but there were a few that could have doubled as medieval torture devices.

She sat at the far end of the counter (as far away from the needles as she could manage) and worked silently on her sketches for her "Illusions of Movement" homework while the doctor prepared a folder for her, detailing her results.

"Mr. Brief mentioned something about you having questions about birth control?" he prompted, not taking his eyes from the microscope.

Pan accidentally snapped her pencil in half and drew a long, deep line across her paper. "Oh. Yes," she blushed, crumpling the drawing into a ball. She'd have to start that one over again. "Um, I'd like to do that please."

"Of course, of course. We offer three different types. There's the pill, the patch and the shot. Which one were you looking to do?"

It felt strange to be discussing such things with a man old enough to be her grandfather, but seeing as she couldn't exactly request a female consultant without having to let someone else in on her Saiyan secret, she just buried her head and asked him to explain the differences between the three. The patch was ruled out right away. Apparently, it was meant to be applied and left on your skin for one to two weeks at a time on certain areas of your body. Considering the amount of time Pan spent sparring and sweating, this didn't seem like a very good bet. It would probably end up slipping off and she'd have to rush home to put another one on before her lessons with Trunks.

The pill wasn't much better. This was something she had to remember to take every day, around the same time like clockwork. She wasn't a forgetful person by any means, but she could just imagine Trunks' reaction if she did happen to forget to take it one day. He'd blow his top. In the end, they agreed on the shot, which she was to receive once every three months. He administered it right there in the lab, told her she'd need to use protection for two weeks, then gave her her folder and sent her on her way.

She didn't bother to peek in her folder when she got home. She was certain she wouldn't understand the bulk of it anyway. Instead, she slipped it in her book bag and kept herself busy by finishing up her sketches. When those were as good as she felt she could get them, she set up her portable easel in the kitchen and started working on an oil painting. This wasn't an assignment or anything, it was just that she felt so much anxiety thrashing around inside of her that she needed to use art as an outlet. If she let herself get to dormant, her thoughts would begin to drift towards Trunks and what they were fixing to do… and those thoughts led in an array of different directions.

She wasn't having second thoughts per say, but there were moments when she definitely questioned the sturdiness of her sanity. When she wasn't fretting over how Trunks' opinion of her would change once he found out how miserable she was bound to be in bed, she worried that this was all some elaborate hoax her own mind was playing on her. Perhaps she should have asked Doctor Aurora to check her for early signs of schizophrenia. But then again, she would have never met that doctor if Trunks hadn't set the appointment, and Trunks wouldn't have set the appointment if he didn't agree to teaching her… so it was a moot point.

Her classes the next morning didn't do much as far as keeping her thoughts busy. As a matter of fact, the bulk of her lessons were in lecture form. Only in her third period Graphic Design course did they sit down and actually try to create anything on a program called Blender. This was a program used by several video game designers. They would upload bodies and use control points called rigs to position the body in the desired pose. It sounded simple enough, but some of the rigs were quite tricky and Pan's mind was so scattered anyway that her poses looked more like the grotesque, misshapen heaps one might see in a horror movie.

As soon as the last bell rang she ran home, showered, made a sandwich, continued her oil painting, then showered again.

At seven-fifteen she grabbed her bag, made sure her folder was inside and began the walk the thirty-seven blocks to Trunks' apartment.

"Good Evening, Ms. Pan," Charles said.

Pan smiled at him and tried to smooth down her hair. She congratulated herself for the millionth time over her decision to grow out her bangs. Before, they would stand on end after a quick flight or even after walking down a windy street, and the only way to tame them was to wet them and blow dry them back into submission. Since the tall buildings in Ney York had a nasty habit of forming a wind tunnel, she decided that the thick fringe her mother had insisted on during her childhood had to go.

"Mr. Brief is expecting you. He said to send you straight up."

She nodded and darted up the stairs. As she rounded the corner she caught a glimpse of Charles shaking his head and shooting an incredulous look at the elevator that Pan always passed up. It was hard enough to get in a decent workout in the city. There was no way she was going to forego the stairs if she could help it.

When she reached the top floor, she saw that the penthouse door was cracked open. She took a moment to gather her nerve, pulled in a couple of deep breaths and let herself in.

Trunks was seated in the dining room, pouring over some blue prints and rubbing the spot right above his eyebrows. This was a trademark move of his that could be spotted whenever he was lost in deep thought.

"Whatcha building?"

He glanced up and allowed an easy smirk to form on his lips. "Gravity room. I would have liked to have had it up here in my apartment, but there's nowhere to put it and the increased gravity would run the risk of bringing down the buildings infrastructure."

"That's too bad," she said. "It would have been great to have a gravity room here. Like bringing a piece of home to the city."

"Oh, I'll have one," he said in a determined and assuring tone, rolling up the prints and tucking them away into a tube-shaped case. "I'll just have to build it in the basement."

"In the basement? Will the owner that you do that?"

"He will if he's smart. Did you go to your appointment?"

She stripped off her book bag and handed him her folder.

Trunks thumbed through it on his way to the living room, nodding and muttering to himself as he read through her results. Keeping his eyes on her charts, he absently grabbed an identical folder off of the coffee table and held it out for her. The label read: BRIEFS, T.

"Oh, that's okay," she said. "I wouldn't know what to look for anyway."

At this, Trunks' eyes burned into her and a firm frown etched itself into his features. "You're going to look it over, Pan. That's what this week is all about. Safety and maintenance, remember?"

She grudgingly took the folder. "Well I know you don't have any diseases or anything."

"Oh yeah? How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because you would have already told me about it," she said, flipping open the folder and staring blankly at the charts and messy handwriting. She frowned at the illegible scrawl. "You'd think it would be a requirement for doctors to write neatly."

"What makes you think I would have already told you about it?" he asked, ignoring her gripe. "That's not something that most guys would consider brag-worthy."

"You're not most guys. You're Trunks and you would have told me."

"Which brings us to lesson one," he said, snapping her folder shut. "Not everyone is trustworthy. Before any parts are exposed, you need to know for sure that your partner is clean."

She gaped at him and struggled to absorb the meaning behind his words. "Wait a minute. You don't mean… you can't mean that you expect me to ask _Leon Starr_ of all people to visit Doctor Aurora, can you?"

"I sure as shit do. Especially Leon Starr. He's a rockstar. He probably gets more ass than a toilet seat. If there's one person on the planet that I'd suspect as having an STD, it would be him."

"No way!" she shrieked. "How am I supposed to do that? '_Oh hey, Leon, I'm a huge fan. You don't have any STD's do you? Would you mind visiting my doctor just to be sure?'_ He'd laugh me out of the room!"

"So you're telling me you'd rather be sorry than safe?"

"No," she moaned, burying her face in her hands. Her cheeks were heating up again just imagining Leon's reaction to this request. Would he find it insulting? "But how am I supposed to ask that without sounding rude?"

"It's just something you have to do," he shrugged. "Wouldn't you rather know up front and have time to back out over finding out the hard way a few weeks later when it feels like your pissing fire?"

She stared down at her hands. He was right and she knew it. "It's just so embarrassing," she said weakly.

He heaved a great sigh from beside her. Sometimes he felt like it caused him physical pain to see Pan struggle. They'd been through so much together. She was his little munchkin, his best friend, his partner in crime. He came into this thing knowing he'd do whatever he could to make sure she didn't suffer, and this little hiccup was no exception. "I figured you'd say that. So…" He pulled a third folder from underneath a stack of magazines and tossed it to her. The label read: STARR, L.

This folder was thicker than bother hers and Trunks had been combined and all she could do was stare at it in awe. Then the realization hit as to what exactly she clutched in her hands, and that was quickly followed up by horror.

"You stole his medical records?!" she gasped and thwacked his arm with the giant folder.

"I didn't steal it," Trunks admonished. "I paid good money for it."

"Aren't there laws against that?" she asked, still staring in disbelief at her best friend. She always knew that the Brief's were more privileged than most, but now she found herself wondering if there was anything that money couldn't buy. She wondered if they'd ever been told _no_ a day in their lives.

"Probably." He didn't look too concerned about it. Instead he took the folder from her and began to rummage through it. "He's an accident prone guy, isn't he?" he asked, eying his third X-ray with distaste. "You sure you want to give it up to someone as fragile as this?"

She scoffed and leaned closer to him, trying to get a better look at the X-ray. Broken collar bone. "Everyone is fragile in comparison, aren't they?"

"Which brings us to Lesson Two," he said replacing the X-ray. "You're right. Everyone else is human, and therefore, far more fragile than you or I will ever be. You're going to have to hold back with him. What's more, there's a good chance that he won't be able to get the job done for you, so you're going to have to work on your acting skills."

"What?" she gasped. "What do you mean by that?"

He flipped through a few more pages. "You have to hold back or else he'll be adding more x-rays to his collection. You know, the same way you have to hold back when playing sports and sparring with humans."

Panic was seeping into her. Her heart accelerated and her breath hitched. "But I suck at holding back! Remember when I was in the seventh grade and decided to try out for soccer?"

He did remember. It wasn't every day that a student broke the whole left side of their body from taking a soccer ball to the chest. The shock of the impact was like a domino effect on that poor girls bones and, even though she _had_ been holding back, Pan was officially forbidden by her parents to go out for any more sports. That was around the time that she took up art.

"Don't worry. You're older now and you'll probably be able to get a better hold on it."

"But what if I don't?" she gasped. "What if I break Leon Starr?"

Sensing a full blown panic attack on the horizon, Trunks decided that evasive action was needed. He calmly put Leon's medical record on the table and, in a surprise move, grabbed Pan by the hips and hoisted her into his lap so that she was straddling him.

Her jabbering came to an immediate stop as she found herself in such an intimate position with her best friend. She could feel every muscle in his thighs, her hands were pressed flat against his chest, and there, at the apex of her thighs, was another muscle. One that caused her blood the scream through her veins. She was struck silent with both fear and longing, curiosity and horror.

"It's like this," he whispered, his warm breath danced across her shoulder, sending shivers up her spine and butterflies into her stomach. His hands were still clasping her hips, strong fingers digging into equally strong flesh. Then, his hold on her tightened and he moved her hips up and down against him.

His hips rose to meet hers, and through the fog that had descended into her thoughts, she vaguely realized that the only thing keeping them apart was their blue jeans.

"This is what you and I would consider normal," he said, smirking at her shell-shocked expression. Then his hands loosened against her hips considerably and he slowed the intensity of his mock thrusts. In addition, he held her hips so that the impact she had against him was barely a third of what it was only moments before. "This is about where you need to be with a human."

Her lips felt dry and cracked. She ran her tongue over them before saying, "But I like the other way better."

He smirked, still absently moving her against him, then whispered, "But he won't. Trust me on this, Pan. It doesn't matter if it's a human, a Saiyan or the God-damned Incredible Hulk… No man wants to have his dick broken."

Then, realizing that he was still holding her in such a compromising position, her stopped his movements, but still held on to her slender hips. As much as he hated to admit it, he had enjoyed the feeling of being able to put his all into something as personal as a thrust. There was nothing more upsetting than having to hold back during sex. It ruined the whole experience for him. While the women he'd been with got to let loose and go wild, he was constantly constraining himself. Sure, it was enjoyable for him for the most part, but a big part of him had always wondered what it must feel like to be completely free in bed.

It was then that he realized that this arrangement may not be as bad as he imagined it would be. Not only would he be helping Pan, but she would perhaps be helping him as well.

"I've made another appointment for you," he said after the silence between them had become too heavy.

She frowned. "More doctors?"

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and plucked a card from it. "Not exactly. It covers the maintenance section of this course."

The card was black, purple and bright pink with the words **CURL UP AND DYE** printed in bold across the top. It took her a moment to realize what it was supposed to mean, but once her eyes fell upon the smaller print in the center, she felt herself go pale. '_New York's top salon for cuts, styles, color, make-up and…_' "…Waxing? Are you serious?"

"No man wants to get all revved up and then come face to face with Cousin It."

She flushed and clambered off of his lap. "I do not have Cousin It happening."

"I didn't say you did," he said, offering her another one of his infamous smirks. "But I do have my preferences, and since this is my class, you have to abide by those preferences."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What kind of preferences?"

"You'll see."

##

**Author's Notes**—Wow! Thanks so much for all the reviews! Sorry this took so long to post. I hit a busy spell. But don't worry.. I'm not abandoning my fics. That's one of my biggest pet peeves: to get interested and immersed into a fic only to find that the author has fallen off the radar!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N—Hello All. I know I took a long time to get this chapter out, and to be honest with you, it isn't even a whole chapter. For those of you who read the Author's Notes, you may remember me mentioning that this is a Gift Fic. It was meant to be for my good friend Claire, but she won't get the chance to read it anymore. She lost her battle with Cancer a week before Halloween and because of that I just couldn't write for a while. I did get all of your messages and emails, but I just didn't know what to say. Claire was the huge DBZ fan of the two of us. She loved everything Anime. She loved drawing and the smell of camp fires and pumpkin spice ice cream. The last time we spoke, we talked for about twenty minutes about this fic alone and for weeks I was so angry about that. I felt like I could have chosen something more important to talk about. Something real. But I've finally decided that I can let go of that anger. This fic (as silly as it may sound) was something that she looked forward to. It was something that made her happy. And if I could contribute to that happiness in her last days, then I should be happy too. I'll start Chapter Five tomorrow. It will be up by the weekend. RIP Claire "Ivy" Mason.**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

He could feel her coming from miles away. It was her… no mistaking. One second her ki would be low, contemplative… then it would spike into a barely contained fury before slowly simmering back down to normal. Moments later her ki swelled again, reaching levels so high that he wouldn't be surprised at all if the excess energy expelled from her body, forming a faint glow all around her as it tended to do.

Trunks anticipated that Pan would come barreling into his apartment any minute now, shouting expletives at him and taking a few well-aimed swings. But just as the mental image had formed, her ki vanished.

_She's suppressing it_, he thought with a smirk and a rush of excitement. He was so sure that he had a good fight coming his way. So sure that her vanishing ki was part of some half-hashed plan to attempt to catch him off guard. _As if she could sneak up on me. I'd be shocked if everyone in West City didn't feel those surges of emotion. _

He strolled into his bedroom, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes as he went. Oh yes. Knowing Pan, she would be on a warpath when she came in. There was no doubt in his mind after what she'd just been through at the salon. With quick, proficient fingers, he stripped off his jacket and dress shirt, discarded his slacks and pulled on his training gear. The thrill of the fight laced through his veins. It had been a long time since he and Pan had gotten a good spar in and her anger would only add to the experience.

_She'll be here any minute_, he thought, and took his position in front of the door.

But _any minute_ turned into an hour, then that hour stretched out into five hours. He was actually starting to get worried about her. Perhaps he misread her ki? Maybe he wasn't sensing anger, but fear? Had someone attacked her? Is that why her ki so suddenly vanished? But who in New York would be able to take on Pan and live to tell the tale? The odds were astronomical. But then, Buu and Baby managed to come out of nowhere. Perhaps some new foe had come along? Perhaps Pan was his first target? Was she okay? Was she alive?

Blinded with panic, he raced to the door and wrenched it open, fully intending to race through the streets to track her down. He'd cover every corner of the city first, and if he hadn't seen, felt, or heard from her before he finished his sweep, he would call in the rest of the gang.

!SLAP!

"A BRAZILLIAN BIKINI WAX!? Have you lost your damn mind!?"

He stumbled back a few steps, cradling his now reddened cheek in his hand. "Pan? Where the fuck have you been?! I've been worried sick!"

"Serves you right!" she shouted and hauled an alarming number of shopping bags through the door. The pile of merchandise was so tall that Pan's small frame was completely buried behind it. There were bags from the salon, bags from Gucci, bags from Victoria's Secret and bags from Coach just to name a few. She tossed them to the ground, forming a heap of designer apparel, then lashed out and plucked a single hair from Trunks' forearm.  
"OW!"

"Yeah," she said, her tone a barely audible threat. "Imagine that times a thousand you sick fuck. I've had that done to every part of my body… even the parts that aren't hairy! Arms, legs, armpits and other places that should never have hot wax applied to them."

"Aw c'mon, Pan. Don't be mad at me," he said. Now that he saw she was okay, he was barely able to contain his laughter.

She narrowed her eyes at him, thought about slapping the other side of his face, then pulled his credit card from her back pocket. "Oh. You laugh now, but just wait until you see your bill. You don't think _I_ paid for all of this stuff, do you?"

He eyed the pile at his feet. "Treat yourself to a shopping spree at my expense?"

"You bet your ass I did. And that's not all. You paid my rent for the next four years as well. I'm a struggling college student after all. I can't be stressed out with something as petty as rent."

"Is that all?" he asked, his blue eyes dancing with humor. "What's that add up to? A hundred grand? Two at most? That's chump change. My sister can spend that much in her sleep. I'm not impressed."

"Are you kidding me?" she gaped. "You mean to say I spent the whole day shopping for no reason?"

This time he didn't even bother to try to contain his laughter. It was a well-known fact that Pan despised shopping. For her to have put herself through such a self-inflicted torture only to find her attempts ineffective was hilarious to him. "That's right, but I must say, you are looking very lovely this way. Maybe I should piss you off more often."

And it was true. It appeared that a chunk of his money was spent at the salon itself. She had not only endured the waxing, but she also got her hair cut and her face polished. He wondered if some of the salon bags on the floor contained the makeup that she wore now. It looked very good on her. In fact, this was the first time in his life that he realized her eyes were not black as he had once thought, but a rich brown instead.

"It's no use trying to sweet talk me. I'm still angry."

"I'm not sweet talking. I'm serious." He toed a few of the bags, trying to peer inside. "Are you going to show me what all I bought?"

He had just lifted the top off of a pink and white box and caught a glimpse of something sheer and lacy before Pan's foot came crashing down on top of his. "That's not for you."

"Is that so? It looked a lot like lingerie. If it's not for me, then who else would you be buying it for? You know the rules. No other partners are permitted."

"In case you've forgotten, there is a reason behind this whole ordeal. Eventually, I'll be staying with Leon Starr and I didn't want to go into that unprepared."

"Oh I see," he frowned. "So my hard earned money is being spent to please Leon, is it?" This bothered him more than it should. Trunks didn't even like that guy's music, the last thing he wanted was to spend a small fortune pleasing that no talent man-whore. Of course, a great deal of his animosity towards him rooted from the fact that the man had (unknowingly) altered his relationship with Pan. A twinge of panic spasmed through his chest and he had to fight to suppress it before she noticed.

"So…" Pan began, her voice was small, hesitant, as she interrupted the silence that he'd barely taken note of. "Do we… you know… start our lessons now? Since the safety and maintenance is pretty much covered?"

He waved his hand airily. "You have to wait at least twenty four hours. Waxing opens your pores and we don't want any, um, fluids or anything getting in there. That's how people wind up with gnarly infections."

"Oh." She did recall the lady at the salon mentioning something about that. But at the time it all seemed like static and background noise swirling around in her own personal Hell.

"Don't worry though," he said, crossing to the entertainment center that stretched across the entire length of the west wall. "You're going to have plenty of material to keep you occupied."

"Material?"

He opened the cabinet on the far right, then pulled the back paneling out to reveal a hidden compartment. From there he pulled out a stack of DVDs. "Study material," he said.

Even from where she stood, a good twenty feet away, she could see what type of study material he was referring to. The covers were littered with women in a variety of compromising poses. Some of them were caught in a moment of elation, others wore looks of innocent surprise and then some looked like they were torn between horrendous pain and the peak of pleasure. "Porn? You have hidden porn? Trunks Brief! You little pervert."

"I'm not a pervert. I'm a guy. Any guy who tells you he doesn't watch porn is a liar."

She cocked one of her freshly plucked brows at him. She could think of a number of guys who most likely did not partake in the porn watching, but perhaps she was wrong. Trunks was a guy after all, so he would know much better than her. "And want do you want me to do with… all this? I thought that it was all supposed to be cheesy and unrealistic. You don't expect me to act like these women do you?"

He circled behind her and tucked the DVDs into her book bag. "Skim through it. Take note of the way they move their bodies. Watch what they do with their hands and whatnot."

"Their hands?"

"You'd be surprised at how much of a difference the way someone uses their hands can make. It can morph boring sex into extraordinary sex."

"You're kidding."

"Trust me, I'm dead serious."

"Fine," she grumbled. This was one assignment she was not looked forward to. Especially with nosey Mrs. Shelton on the other side of the wall.

Trunks pressed his lips into a line, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his amusement. "I'll have Charles send you things over to your place," he said, nudging the bags with the toe of his shoe. "Except this one." He pinned one of the Victoria's Secret boxes under he booted and dragged it towards him. "The way I see it, if I am the one who has to pay for all of this, I deserve a little peek."

She bit her lip, wondering which piece was in that box, hoping against hope that it wasn't one of the scarier ones. If she was being completely honest, she'd have to admit that she bought some of those knowing that she'd never wear them. She'd just wanted to run up his bill a little more.

"I think I should get to decide which one you can see."

"I think not," he laughed. "I like the idea of it being a surprise for both of us. Besides, if I let you choose, you'd probably pick out something ridiculous. Like faded beige granny panties or something."

"I would not!"

He raised his brows at her and she let it drop. He had he caught. That was precisely the type of thing that she would do. "Be back here Monday. Eight o'clock. Oh, and be sure to eat before you get here. It will be the start of week two, the Maiden Voyage. You're going to need the energy."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – So… I got this chapter done much faster than I originally expected. I thought it would be hard to write… but it was the easiest I've written in a long time. Maybe Claire is rooting me on from somewhere, I don't know. Anywho—This chapter is a **_**LEMON**_**. I'm really not sure if has some rules against fics this.. um… descriptive or not. So if it's too much, let me know and I will take it down, edit the heck out of it, and put up a PG version. As always, No Beta.. so let me know if there are typos. **

CHAPTER FIVE

Monday came too soon.

Pan had done what Trunks told her to do. She watched the videos, curled up on her couch, with the curtains drawn tight and the volume turned all the way down. The last thing she needed was for nosy Mrs. Shelton to come banging on her door while she was watching such questionable material.

"Relax, Pan," she had told herself. "It's not like you're committing a crime." But her own comforting words did nothing to soothe her paranoia. She jumped whenever the icemaker churned out more cubes and turned the TV off completely if she heard anyone walking down the hall.

When her fear of getting caught finally did ebb away late Saturday night, a new fear surfaced. The fear of rejection and humiliation. She watched those women, just as Trunks had told her too. She watched the way they swiveled their hips, the way they touched their partners… the way they touched _themselves_. Just thinking about it… just _imagining_ that she would be the one doing all of those things… she shuddered.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" Pan blinked and found herself staring straight into Mya's clear, hazel eyes. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't even see her friend move to stand in front of her.

"You're not catching fever are you? You look a little flushed," Mya said, pressing the inside of her wrist to Pan's forehead. The corner of her lips pulled down as she compared Pan's body temperature to her own.

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep too well last night."

It was true enough. She'd been tossing and turning all night while images of porn stars rolled through her dreams. They were all pointing and laughing at her meager attempts to please Leon Starr. Leon, who just stared down at her with a look of pure disgust taking over his otherwise angelic features. Then, suddenly, the picture shifted. Where Leon had once been stood a new man, a familiar man: Trunks.

"I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing," she had told him. Heat flooded her cheeks and the bitter taste of embarrassment pooled on her tongue. The porn stars laughed louder.

He smirked and ruffled her hair. "Well that much is obvious. You're horrible, Pan."

"No! You're wrong! Let me show you," she pleaded and rolled so that she was on top of him. She'd seen the women in the videos do this. It didn't look that complicated. She shot them all an acidic glare, eager to show them that she wasn't a sexual cripple. Slowly, she lowered herself, taking him inside of her as she went. His strong hands gripped her hips, pulling her down farther while he sucked in a hissing breath through his clenched teeth.

The tips of her hair tickled her bare lower back as she began to move. Up. Down. Around. Up. Down. Around.

A groan emitted from Trunks and the sound was so encouraging that she tossed her head back and moved with more vigor, mixing up her movements. Up. Down. Up. Down. Around. Around. Up. Down.

She gasped when his mouth found one of her breasts, then grabbed two fistfuls of his hair when his teeth began pulling at her hardened nipple. Every now and then his tongue would lash out and the contrast between his warm breath and the cold air sent legions of chills down her spine, making her move harder and faster.

She was not oblivious to the nagging sense of warning in the back of her mind. She knew it was there, but couldn't imagine what the warning could be. She couldn't pull herself away from the sensation that filled her, couldn't stand to tear her focus away from her primal needs, to acknowledge it.

"Pan," Trunks gasped. His nails raked up her back, then tangled themselves in her hair. His mouth was still assaulting her breasts so she felt his smile when he said, "slow down, Pan."

The room around them began to spin, slow at first, and then so fast that the faces of their audience blurred together into nothing more than an array of curious colors. She picked up the speed of her thrusts as the room spun faster and faster.

"No, Pan," Trunks grunted. "That's too fast."

She could feel his muscles tighten and bunch together beneath her_. He must be close_, she thought, a smug smile forming on her lips. Despite his advice, she sped up more. And then…

CRACK!

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence. She jumped and looked back down to Trunks, but it was no longer Trunks that she was straddling. It was Leon Starr. Tears raced down his face, dripping from his chin and pooling on his heaving chest. Frightened, ragged gasps ripped through him as he fought to breathe. His eyes rolled in their sockets and she knew that he was on the verge of passing out.

"Leon? Leon!" She scrambled off of him and stared in horror at when she had done.

From the waist down her idol was bloodied and bruised. His feet flopped limply against the ground and his legs jutted out at odd angles.

_Oh God, Oh God! I broke him! I broke his back!_

Across from her, Trunks was shaking his head in utter shame while handing out checks to all the witnesses—paying for their silence. Paying them to keep their mouths shut about Pan's super-human strength. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to cry and beg him to help her. But the look behind his eyes had her rooted to the spot. It was that look that made this dream a nightmare. It was a look that said, not only was he ashamed of her… but that he was also hindered by her. A look that accused her of trapping him, of making him hang around to clean up all of her messes.

"Pan? Earth to Pan!" Mya screeched.

She flinched and jolted out of the memory of her nightmare. "Uhh… Maybe you're right," she said, jumping up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'm not feeling so hot. I think I'm gonna bail on the rest of the day."

At first Mya looked startled, then suspicious. "You're going home? You never ditch classes. You're always blathering on and on about how your dad would kill you if you ever di—"

"I just don't feel well. Will you get any make-up assignments I need? Just slip them in my mailbox."

"Don't be silly. I'll bring them up to you."

"NO!" She exclaimed and whirled around. "I, uh, I'll probably be asleep. Yeah. I just need to get some sleep." She knew perfectly well that Mya would go to her apartment anyway. But at least this way she had a somewhat acceptable reason for why she wouldn't be answering the door.

Before Mya could argue, she trotted down the street, focusing on each step she took so as to not run too fast. Despite the small amount of excursion she put forth, her heart was pounding. Tonight was the night. Tonight she would lose her virginity to Trunks. And the nightmare just made it that much scarier. Sure, she knew she'd never be able to hurt Trunks, but she'd never really considered the possibility of disappointing him. What if it was so bad that he decided he didn't want to continue with their lessons? Was that possible? Could anyone ever be so bad?

_This must be what it's like for people on death row_, she thought idly. To know what was coming. To know and to be so afraid of what would happen afterwards.

Pretty soon she reached the more crowded parts of the city and running became impossible. There were a lot of things that humans would never notice, but a girl weaving like lightening in between them was not one of them. She slowed to a walk and read the signs of each building she passed, looked at every window display, listened in on every inconsequential conversation—anything to keep her mind from wandering in Trunks' direction and all the things he would be teaching her later tonight.

When she finally made it home, she locked the door behind her, shut all the curtains and dove into the shower. It took her a much shorter time to get clean than usual, having nothing to shave, so she stood under the warm stream of water and let it work the knots out of her shoulders.

When she stepped out, she raised her ki to dry her skin and hair. It was much easier and much faster than having to mess with a blow dryer. She glanced at the pile of makeup she'd bought from the salon, contemplating whether it was worth it to try to figure it all out. She decided it was. Not only would it keep her busy, but it would also take a chunk out of the time.

She pulled it all out of the bags and began tearing the packages open: moisturizer, primer, concealer, powder, eye shadow, eye liner, lip stick, blush, mascara, lip liner, brow pencils… the list went on and on. There were only a few things that she recognized—the items she'd seen her mother use. Her mom had always seemed so beautiful to her and now, looking back, she thought her mother was even more gorgeous for not needing half of this crap.

The sales lady had told her how to use each product and Pan had successfully applied it all before tucking it away in her new, overly-extravagant makeup case—another item that was purchased ala Trunks. When she saw that she still had plenty of time before she had to leave, she began experimenting with nail polish. She painted her fingernails and her toenails. Twice.

At five she remembered that Trunks had told her to eat. She decided on steak, potatoes and salad since it would take the most time to prepare. Then, just to eat up more clock, she baked her Grandma Chichi's famous turtle brownies.

By the time she had finished dinner, she was officially running out of time.

_The dishes can wait,_ she thought and piled them in the sink. Then she darted into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. When she came out she took a Tupperware bowl out of the cabinet and stacked the brownies neatly inside. Then she shimmied into a pair of skinny jeans, a nice red blouse and some black heels she had picked up during her shopping spree. Skinny jeans and heals were not her normal go-to's, but this was a special occasion and she felt like if her outfit had attitude then she wouldn't feel like such a coward going into this.

Finally, she packed the dreaded DVD's back into her bag and headed for the door, brownies in hand.

"Holy shit," Mya gaped. Her hand was raised, her finger drawn into a loose fist. She'd been about to knock when the door flew open. Her eyes ran up and down Pan once, twice, three times before she asked, "Going somewhere?"

Mya! Pan cringed and slid the door shut behind her. "Yeah, I, uh, I have to go out for a minute. What are you doing here?"

"You told me to grab your assignments," she said, waving a stack of papers.

"Oh thanks," she said and tucked them into her bag, making sure that Mya didn't glimpse anything else that might be hiding within.

"I thought you were sick."

"I was. I'm better now."

"Are those stilettoes?"

She cringed. Leave it to Mya to pick out every fine detail. "Yeah, I think they are. Listen I really need to get going. I'm already running behind."

Mya tried to stand her ground. Tried and failed. Pan was able to sneak past her easily. But she was nowhere near giving up. "Where are you going?" she asked, speeding up to match Pan's stride.

Rule number one of the School Rules flashed in Pan's mind like a bright neon sign. No one could know. "I have a date," she said lamely. It was the only excuse she could think of that would explain the outfit.

"Ohhh!" Mya squealed, a knowing smile formed on her lips, and her one dimple popped out on her left cheek. "Anyone I know?"

"No."

Mya frowned. "Well what's his name?"

"Um, Travis."

"Travis?" she bit her lip, running through all the guys in school, no doubt, until she landed on a face to match the name. "Not Travis Skimmor?" she gasped "Ew! Pan! You can do much better than that!"

"No! No!" Pan screeched. Travis Skimmer was in their first period class. He was short and oily and spent all of his time playing those live action, role playing games. If anyone ever spoke to him, he'd insist that they address him as Noctorium, as that was his role playing name. "You don't know this guy. I met him… online. ." she lied.

"Oh." Mya looked relieved and worried all at once. "Well… I don't know. Online dating? In New York?"

"I'll be fine," she promised. Then, in a stroke of inspiration added, "we won't be far from Trunks' apartment. If Travis tries anything, I'll run to Trunks."

That seemed to put her friend at ease and after only ten more questions (something that Pan would have never imagined possible for Mya), they went their separate ways.

Now that she was rid of Mya, Pan scurried down the street, balancing her brownie container in one hand while she sped through the street for thirty-seven blocks.

"Good Evening, Ms. Pan," Charles said, then came up short when she ran for the elevator. She may have super speed, but it did no good in the city when there were plenty of witnesses. For the millionth time, she hated that Grandpa Goku had died before he could teach her instant transmission. She stepped inside and mashed the button to take her to the penthouse.

It was 8:02 when she swirled into Trunks' apartment. He stood at the dining room table again, poring over more blue prints. He didn't even look up when he said, "You're late."

"I know. I got held up."

"So you're not having second thoughts then?" He leaned closer to the table, squinting his eyes at one of the smaller blocks on the paper. He scoffed and crossed something out, then wrote in a correction.

"No."

"What held you up?"

"What's with the third degree? It was nothing. Mya just stopped by unexpectedly and I had to work to get rid of her," she said as she marched to the kitchen to set the brownies on the counter. There, she unzipped her bag and pulled out the movies as well.

"Mya? That sounds familiar. Do I know her?"

"You should. She clings onto you every time you show up. You know, short, curly red hair, giggles a lot."

"Is she the one who always sniffs me?"

Pan rolled her eyes. "Probably."

"Right. We need to work on your associates, Pan," he said, rolling up the prints. After he stored them in their case he strolled out of the dining room and caught his first glimpse of his youngest friend. And he stopped dead.

"What are those!?" he demanded, pointing to her shoes. "And that stuff! What's that stuff on your nails? Did you do that? You don't do that! You don't paint your nails! You never have. You always said it was too girly and that you had more important things to do!"

She shrugged, "I had some time to burn and you bought me so much stuff—"

"And what are these?" he asked, pointing again.

Pan looked down. "Brownies?"

"Not those, these!" he crossed the room and ran his hand up her thigh.

She jumped at the contact, but then understood what he was asking. "Skinny jeans. Do you like them?"

He laughed a throaty laugh, still running his hands along her thighs. "Every man likes skinny jeans. I was worried that I'd have some sort of guilt attack for doing this, but you're making it far too easy for me."

All of a sudden, her voice forgot how to function. She opened and closed her mouth twice before any sound came out and even then, it was barely a whisper. "So.. the Maiden Voyage?"

He nodded. "The Maiden Voyage." Then he scooped her up and headed for the bedroom.

She tried not to squeal when she found herself being toted in his arms despite the fact that she really, _really_ wanted to. It was so girly and she didn't want him to think she was enjoying herself too much. Overall, she didn't want him to think that she thought this was some sort of date. She knew better than that. If he thought for even the briefest of moments that Pan was developing feelings, he would call this whole thing off.

When he set her down in the bedroom, she felt extremely proud of herself for not letting a peep escape her lips.

He stood behind her and scooped her hair off to one side. Then his lips were on her, trailing soft kisses up the length of her neck, sucking on her earlobe, and breathing his hot breath onto her suddenly freezing skin. It was just like her dream but better. He was much more efficient in real life. A point that was made painfully clear to her when she looked down and noted that his fingers had already deftly unbuttoned her blouse, and he was sliding it off of her shoulders.

She was too shocked to move, mostly because of how quick all of this was happening. Shouldn't there be some wining and dining first? Isn't he supposed to be spending exhausting amounts of time, working every angle to get her into bed with him?

No. Of course not. That's not what either of them had signed up for. What they wanted was just this. The physical. Pan wanted to learn what to do and Trunks… well… Trunks got laid in the process. This whole arrangement was a win win just as it was. She didn't expect candles and flowers and she knew she wouldn't receive it. There would be no romance.

His fingers slid up her spine, all the way to the nape of her neck and then back down to the clasp of her bra. His lips never left her neck as he unfastened it and pulled her arms free of the satin material. Then his hands wove themselves around her waist, tracing shapes across her hips and over her stomach, reaching higher and higher until they cupped her breasts.

A small groan escaped her parted lips and she felt him smile against her neck. This was all very similar to her dream, but the actual, physical sensation of his skin on hers was so much more. This was something that no dream could have ever gotten right. There were little details, small little things, like the way his fine stubble scratched her skin in such a good way, that her subconscious had neglected. Little things that she could only experience in real life situations.

When his mouth began moving north again, she unwittingly turned her head up to meet his.

His laugh was a barely audible whisper in her ear. "No, no," he said in a husky tone. One of his hands roamed up her body and covered her mouth. "Not on the lips, remember?"

She did remember. It was one of their rules. A rule that he'd put in place to prevent any unwanted feelings. Still, even though he had turned her head away from his, he still had her mouth trapped under his palm.

"Did I buy these for you?" he asked, trailing his index finger along the inside of her jeans.

She nodded.

"Remind me to buy you some more. I really like them."

She had just raised her brows at him, questioning what he meant by that, when he caught a handful of the material and tugged. A great ripping noise resonated from every corner of the room and suddenly she was left standing in nothing more than her panties and her stilettoes.

Trunks tossed the ruined jeans into the corner.

And then he moved, so fast that her Saiyan eyes had barely been able to capture the motion at all. One minute she had been standing with Trunks pulling her back into his chest, and the next he had her pinned to the bed, her arms trapped at her sides, while he alternated pulling each of her breasts into his mouth. Her back arched, encouraging him, and she was surprised to learn how appealing she found that slurping, sucking noise to be. Every now and then his teeth would graze over her sensitive flesh and her whole body would be rocked with tremors.

"I think you're ready," he said, releasing her arms and dragging his hands down her torso.

Those four words sent her mind into a blind panic. This was it. D-day. It was about to happen.

"You've got two options," he said, grasping her panties and slowly yanking them down her legs, over her knees and carefully around her stilettoes. It appeared that he desperately wanted her to leave the shoes on.

"Options?" she repeated. She felt slow, sluggish. Like he was saying something that should have been totally obvious but she just couldn't comprehend what it was.

He smiled and dipped his head into the apex of her thighs. This completely took her off guard. She'd seen it in the videos he'd given her, but she'd been so sure that this was something they were going to skip over! She'd thought that this would be a lesson saved for Oral Fixations week! And yet there he was, tongue swirling, lapping, sucking, teasing. It was driving her insane!

Her legs stiffened under his assault and a warm, yet foreign sensation began to pool in her stomach. It wasn't bad, but she wasn't sure if it was food either. It was something… other. Something new. It took her a while before she was able to recognize it as something she wanted. Something that was turning very quickly into absolute pleasure.

Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to take much more of this pleasure, he inserted first one, then two fingers inside of her. They worked against the timing of his tongue, so that there wasn't a moment of rest for her.

Her hands lashed out for something to hold on to, but could only find the comforter beneath them. It would have to be good enough. She balled up the material in her fists and closed her eyes tight. Stars began popping up behind her lids as the warmth in her stomach began to grow and swell.

"Let it go," Trunks whispered. His thumb found her clitoris and she felt her knees lock, her heels dug into the mattress.

She wasn't sure how it happened, but she was screaming. Not a bad scream, a scream of pleasure, a scream of release.

"I wanted you to have an orgasm," he explained. "A lot of women don't have one their first time." She was too breathless to respond, so he smiled and continued. "This next part will probably hurt, so here are your options: we can do this soft and slow, so you can absorb the pain and have time to get used to it… or we can go fast and hard, and hopefully the pain will pass more quickly."

This was the part she was not looking forward to. The pain. She knew it would be there, but she didn't know she was going to have to make any choices. Her mind was still reeling from her orgasm, making her thoughts much too fuzzy to interpret. Finally she asked, "How do you like it?"

He grinned and she could swear she saw a light pink shade spread across his cheeks. "Personally, I'm a fan of having it rough."

Of course he was. She swallowed. "We can do it that way then." It was only fair after all. He went out of his way to ensure that she enjoyed her first time, she might as well level the playing field so that he would have a good time as well.

He leaned back to study her face. "You sure?" he asked as he loosened his tie and peeled off his shirt. This was the first time that Pan noticed he was still wearing his suit.

"Yeah." She tried to make her voice sound nonchalant, but it came out too high pitched.

His lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hide his laughter no doubt, and he unfastened his belt and let his pants slide to the floor.

Pan tried not to stare. She knew what a naked man looked like. She'd seen it in her anatomy classes and in those damned videos… but nothing, _nothing_ could prepare her for what Trunks looked like naked. He made statues of greek gods look like contestants on The Biggest Loser. What's more, the smirk her wore only confirmed that he knew exactly how good he looked as he strolled over to the nightstand and pulled out a stack of black, square shaped packets.

"You still have a week to go before we don't have to worry about these."

He tore one of the packets open and slid the condom on.

"What should I," Pan began, then forgot her question and started again. "Where should I?"

"Don't worry about any of that this week," he said, lowering himself on the bed and crawling to position himself between her legs. "You're not going to learn any tips or tricks tonight. You're going to just feel it all out. We'll get into the specifics as we go. For now, just leave all the work to me." He slid a hand down her thigh, around her calf and grasped her ankle, yanking it high up onto his shoulder. Her winked and said, "I really do like these shoes," then he buried himself inside of her.

The pain was a shock. And it was humbling. Part of her felt like she was being ripped in half while the other part thought that it was all very anticlimactic. She'd feared much worse than this. This was like a pinching pain. A pain that was too deep to alleviate, but not unbearable. Behind the pain there was something else… something very close to pleasure. She imagined that once the pain completely passed, this experience would be very enjoyable.

Trunks didn't seem oblivious to her discomfort. His eyes studied her face carefully, looking for any minute signs of distress. She imagined that he would pull out of her and stop right away if he thought it was too much for her to handle. Because of this, she gripped on to his arms and tried to pull him into her farther.

That was all it took.

Trunks' self-control broke like a faulty dam and his concern for her went with it. She was no longer Pan, his longtime friend and best friend's niece. She was Pan, a woman. A woman, he thought, with whom he did not have to worry about hurting. His thrusts became harder, faster. The bed protested beneath them, but neither noticed. They were both so caught up in the moment.

He gripped her hips and slammed into her over and over. Soon his low baritone grunts were accompanied by her high, soprano moans. She had gotten past the pain. She was enjoying the moment. He yanked her arms, pulling her up to straddle him and was pleased when she seemed to know exactly what he wanted. She was letting instinct take over. Still, he could sense her panic. He could sense that she wasn't quite sure what to do. She was new at this, of course she didn't know what to do.

He kept one hand wrapped securely around her back while the other clamped down on her hip, guiding her up and down. He met her thrust for thrust until they were both covered with a layer of sweat. He could feel her tightening around him. He could see her eyes blurring in and out of focus and he knew then that Pan would be the exception and not the rule. She would have an orgasm her first time. He planned to see to it personally.

She wrapped her arms around her neck, and he took advantage of his now free hand to grab her other hip and pulled her down onto him with that much more force. She could fit all of him inside of her, like they were two pieces of a very intricate puzzle.

Her insides clenched once, then twice. He thrust into her hard three more times and that was more than she could stand. She cried out, burying her head into his shoulder to muffle the sound, and a delicious warmth erupted from inside of her.

He growled at the sensation and clamped his teeth together as he found his own release.

They sat still for a few moments, both lost in the wonder of what had just happened. Pan was transfixed on the fact that she was officially no longer a virgin and Trunks was lost in a daze as he realized what he'd been missing by holding back with the other girls. He'd never experienced anything as intense as what he just did with Pan and he felt cheated. Like he too had been a virgin for all these years.

Very gently, he eased himself out of her and reached around, fumbling for something behind her.

"What are you doing?" she asked lazily. Her bones felt like they'd melted beneath her skin—like her first encounter had come with a gift of purchase in the form of complete and utter relaxation.

He found the stack of condoms and ripped off the topmost packet. "I want to go again."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- sorry about the long absence. Hopefully the distractions will be minimal now that it is summer! :)**

CHAPTER SIX

For a man who spent so much time preaching about the importance of holding back, Trunks showed no signs of going easy on Pan. There had been a few frightening moments during their third round in which he nearly looked possessed as he drove himself inside of her, grunting like an animal and crushing her against him, his grip growing tighter and tighter on her hips, her shoulders, her arms, her legs. He seemed to be everywhere at once, jerking her into strange and sometimes uncomfortable positions. At one point he had slammed her so hard into the wall that the plaster cracked beneath her, but he didn't notice at all.

In the rare occasion that she was able to focus on anything other than the way her body stretched and contorted around him, she thought back to their contract. She was sure there had been something in there about stopping if either of them grew frightened or uncomfortable, but she sealed her lips against the urge. If she told him that he was scaring her, then he'd be overtaken with shame and likely never touch her again.

Instead, she said, "slow down," and was relieved when he slowed at once. He held her close to him and pulled her to the bed where he dropped her onto the mattress, flipped her around and continued at a much more manageable rate. Her legs shook as his hands roamed over and squeezed her bottom.

She knew he was close when his thrusts began to pick up speed again and the calloused fingers of one of his hands snaked in between her legs and found her clitoris.

Warmth spread in her belly, stars popped in her vision and her body seemed to explode, releasing every ounce of fear or worry she'd ever had. Her body turned to mush and she sank back to the mattress feeling thoroughly used up and exhausted. Trunks collapsed next to, his breathing heavy and his body damp.

"You tired?" he asked between pants.

"That's an understatement," she said a little dreamily. Her body had already shut down and her mind was quickly following.

She was vaguely aware of a floating sensation after that but didn't comprehend it until the next day, when she woke to find herself in Trunk's spare bedroom. She imagined that her feelings should have been hurt, but Trunks had made it very clear that they would not be sleeping in the same bed before this whole ordeal ever began and had made good on that promise by carting her from the room once he was done. So instead of moping, she tossed the covers aside and stood up...

…. and then fell right back down.

The muscles in her thighs and torso felt as if they'd all been stretched across the length of a football field and her hips and breasts were swollen with bruises. In addition, she was absolutely ravenous!

Sex, it seemed, was a lot like fighting—it left her exhausted, sore and hungry.

She stood again, this time more prepared for the uncomfortable sensation in her muscles and groaned when she spotted the clock. It was 7:15 in the morning. Not only was she sleep deprived, she also only had forty-five minutes to eat, make it back to her apartment, shower, dress and get to school on time.

She looked around her clothes but they were no where to be found. Dread seeped in when she remembered in a flash of clarity how Trunks has literally ripped her jeans off of her and tossed them into the corner. Muttering angrily about overzealous Saiyans, Pan wrapped a sheet around her, toga-style, and tiptoed out of the room.

Trunks' door stood ajar and from her spot in the hall she could clearly see that he wasn't in bed.

_Must've gone to work already_, she thought, pushing her way into the room. She went straight for his chest of drawers and rummaged through them with one goal in mind: basketball shorts or anything else with a drawstring that she could borrow.

She found a pair of shorts in the fourth drawer down, shimmied into them and grabbed a plain white t-shirt as well. She'd just let the sheet drop when a strong pair of hands wrapped around her and pulled her back into a chiseled chest that had suddenly become very familiar to her.

"I thought you'd gone to work already," Pan said, trying to remain calm to the fact that his fingers were tugging playfully at one of her nipples.

"No," Trunks said, "But I did go to your apartment for you. I grabbed your books and some clothes. For future reference, you may want to bring something to change into when you come for your lessons."

She nodded and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a moan.

Trunks chuckled and she shivered when his breath hit the back of her neck.

"How are you feeling?" he asked

"Like a rubber pencil."

He laughed harder, grabbed the t-shirt from her hands and, with one swift yank, pulled her borrowed shorts back down. "I was thinking on the way back, this morning seemed like the perfect time to introduce you to a little thing the general public calls _The Quickie_."

Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she considered it. The time was now 7:20. If she wanted to be to school by eight, she'd be pushing it. "I don't know. My lessons..."

But Trunks was already marching her towards the master bathroom. "It's called _muti-tasking_, Pan. It's a beautiful thing."

His bathroom could have housed a small family, but she barely got the chance to look at it before he was pushing her into the shower, which was the size of her kitchen. Dozens of shower heads jutted from the walls from every direction, and two particularly large ones were settled directly overhead. Some of the shower heads had thick winding cords coming from them and were obviously detachable while others were stationary, but every last one of them were facing the center, where there sat what Pan could only imagine was a shower bench.

"Rich people," she muttered. "Can't even take a shower properly."

"I'll have you know," he said, turning the faucets. Jets of water shot out, making the experience more like standing in the middle of hurricane than taking an actual shower, "this setup was very affordable."

Then he bent her over the bench.

##

At 7:59, Pan eased down into her chair towards the back of the classroom. Her legs were still shaking, there was a dull ache pulsating between her legs and her bottom was tender from where Trunks' wet skin had been slapping against it this morning. At the time, the smacking noise made from their contact had been distant and hardly noticeable. It wasn't until she raked the towel over herself that she noticed the subtle sting.

Mya eyed her skeptically from across the room and Pan knew she needed to come up with something believable before the bell rang. She decided to keep it simple.

"I fell," she said when the teacher released them and Mya had all but instant transmissioned in front of her. "Right down the stairs."

"You fell?" she repeated, crossing her arms. Clearly she wasn't buying it.

"It's true. I hit my butt on every stair on the way down."

"Mmhmm. And how was your date?"

"Fine." She gathered her books and tried to keep herself from wincing as she stood.

"Trevor had honorable intentions then?" Mya pressed.

Pan nodded. "He was the perfect gentlemen."

"AH HA!" Mya yelped and pointed one of her short, accusatory fingers in Pan's face. "You said his name was Travis last night! Not Trevor! Who in the world forgets their date's name? You're hiding something Pan Son. Now spill!"

For a moment—just one brief shining moment—Pan thought about telling Mya everything. It would have been nice to have a girl friend to talk to and knowing Mya she'd probably pester Pan for as long as it took to solve this mystery. But she had agreed to Trunks' terms. He put their very friendship on the line because Pan asked him too. The least she could do was keep her word.

"I-." she began, but a soft buzzing in her back pocket saved her from having to answer. With fumbling fingers she pulled her cell from her pocket, gave a fleeting glace at the number on screen and said, "Sorry. I have to take this."

Honestly, it could have been a telemarketer calling and she would have answered. She probably would have purchased whatever he was trying to sell as well out of gratitude for getting Mya off her back for the moment.

"Pan!" Her Uncle Goten greeted from the other end of the line. "How's my favorite niece?"

"Uncle Goten," she sighed. "I'm your only niece."

"All the more reason that you should be my favorite."

She smiled, despite herself. It was always good to hear from Goten. He hardly ever got to call what with his busy night life. He'd had nearly as many women as Trunks and the bulk of them were insufferable. Quite a few of them didn't approve of him calling Pan simply because she was another girl. It didn't matter that she was his niece—not to them.

"-around for Easter holiday," Goten was saying.

Pan gave herself a shake. "What?"

"I said, Mom and Bulma have been plotting another Z Gang gathering. They'd like for you and Trunks to make it as well and wanted me to ask if you'd be able to come around for Easter Holiday."

Easter was two months away. "Yeah. I imagine I can."

"Good," he chimed. "You seem a little distracted. You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said. Then glancing at the unfinished assignments she still has stuffed in her bag from yesterday added, "just trying to catch up on some school work."

After that, Pan had to become very crafty to avoid long periods of time alone with Mya. Lunch time proved to be especially difficult and in a desperate attempt to keep herself unavailable, stayed behind in Mr. Thomas' class and asked to go over their latest tests results—one question at a time, with lengthy explanations—even though she had passed with a nighty-eight percent.

During her final class of the day, she found herself fretting in her chair. She hadn't asked Trunks about their schedule. She knew the weekly breakdown of the material, but was she meant to come to his apartment every night? Or was this an every-other-day ordeal? Perhaps it was even less frequent than that. Maybe he only intended to see her once a week.

She'd come close to texting him several times, but always stopped herself. What if she came across as clingy? This whole having-sex-with-your-best-friend thing was proving to be far more complicated than she could have imagined. Whereas she could have bothered him about anything at any time before all of this, now she found herself fretting over crossing invisible lines.

Luckily, she was spared the trouble of asking the schedule when she received a text form him moments before the bell rang.

When the teacher turned towards the projector she stealthily pulled her phone out and read the two word message.

_Eight o'clock. _

##

It was four o'clock and Trunks was in a very good mood.

Even though he'd arrived to work late, he'd managed to get quite bit done. Several clients were happy with their latest shipments, he'd caught up on his meetings, the fire in legal has been thoroughly doused and he had more lessons with Pan to look forward to this evening.

The extra spring in his step did not go unnoticed by the his staff. He'd never been what anyone would call a bad boss, but he certainly wasn't enjoyable either. Normally he was all business. He'd been accused on more than one occasion for having a one track mind and being married to his work, but such was not the case today.

He'd always wondered what it was that made humans so chipper after sex. He even tried to break it down scientifically in the past, but had never experienced the phenomena himself. After a while, he concluded that it had to be a human thing.

Sure, he enjoyed sex. He was a man after all. But the euphoria that followed the act always evaded him. He supposed now that it was because he'd never had sex properly, what with having to hold back all the time.

And now that he'd finally experienced it, he was reluctant to let it go. He knew perfectly well that at some point this arrangement would come to a close, but, he thought, what was the harm in squeezing out every single enjoyable moment he could while it was available?

It wasn't as if he was using Pan. This was her idea in the first place. Plus there were the rules. And as long as they were followed to the letter, no heartache would be involved when this whole thing was over.

He strolled leisurely into his last meeting of the day and met with a beefy man named Conner. Conner was in the airplane business and was looking to have something built with speed while maintaining the benefits of first-class comfort. The proposed budget was extremely tight and one that Trunks would have normally declined, but he was in such a good mood that he agreed to give it a shot and told Conner he'd have some sketches drafted.

At 6:15 he left Capsule Corp and was back to his pent house by seven.

After a quick shower (in which his mind was bombarded by the memory of that morning), he bolted down his supper and had barely cleared the dishes when Pan knocked.

She put on a good show, but couldn't quite hide her subtle bow-legged limp from his Saiyan eyes.

"Too rough?" he guessed, wasting no time in guiding her back to his bedroom.

"No," she said, holding her head high. "I expect it's perfectly normal to be a little sore after your first time, thank you very much."

"Oh good," he said darkly. "I was worried I'd have to go easy on you for a minute there."

Despite his threats, Trunks did, indeed, go a great deal easier on Pan that night.


End file.
